


Worries Go Down Better with Ale than Without

by madame_faust



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_faust/pseuds/madame_faust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the kink meme prompt: "Seriously, just anything where Thorin and Dis' husband are just like best friends who work together and hang out and drink on occasion because they are besties and they enjoy each other's company."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worries Go Down Better with Ale than Without

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and am not making a profit from this work. View the original prompt and fill here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7437379#t7437379
> 
> This fill got the hell away from me VERY quickly. Instead of being a quickie about singing and drinking, it devolved into Durin Family Feels, Therapy Time with Your Sister's Boyfriend, Thorin is a Not-So-Secret Dís/Dwalin Shipper, and Bonus Shithead Teenage!Nori. WHAT IS EVEN MY LIFE. Gah. Anyway, Important Things: I took the name Víli from the Poetic Edda where Tolkien borrowed his dwarf names and the song "Wild Rover" that Víli sings is NOT mine, it's a traditional Irish drinking song. Also, based on the fact that in movie!canon, Dori is a knitter and his clothes seem particularly nice to my eye, I've decided the Ri family are weavers and makers of fine cloth. Because not everyone can rock a hammer or a chisel.

The thin, rocky soil of the Ered Luin did not lend itself well to the support of life. The only things that came out of the earth of value in the mountains were metals to be forged and the occasional gemstone to be traded for goods. Dwarves had been mining the region since the First Age of Middle Earth and still the bounty of the rock was not exhausted, but even the most devoted miner would admit that iron did not make much of a meal. Even if the dwarrow-folk were of a mind to till the earth and bring forth gardens, they would have a rough go of it. Only the hardiest sheep and goats lived in those parts and more often than not, they didn’t seem very pleased with their lot in life.  
  
As it was, Dwarrow folk found occupation neither as farmers nor shepherds, but as craftsman, to the last Dwarf. The work suited them (and curse the beard of he who would throw off the occupation of his fathers and forefathers and trade a pick for a plow), but it did make procuring food a mite tricky now and again. Each autumn, the craftsmen - and the rare woman - who could be spared went south to trade their cloth, tools and finery for meat and vegetables enough to keep them through the winter. Every year since they settled in the Blue Mountains, Thorin would travel with Dwalin and Balin to do business while his sister minded the smithy, but this year it was the other way round.  
  
His sister had been needling him about it for weeks, claiming she was grown and it was dull as ditchwater when they were gone away. Dwalin was no help in dissuading her, saying he would mind the lass and he supposed Thorin could be trusted not to burn the place down in their absence. Naturally, he put up a blustering show of hemming and hawing before he agreed to their scheme. No one said as much, but it was probably better this way. Trading with Men who did not show their work the respect it deserved made him ornery and last year he’d gotten into an altercation when a Man insulted them, claiming the last time he used a Dwarrow farrier his horse had thrown a shoe and the whole lot of their race were liars and cheats.  
  
Dís was blessed with a cooler head than her brother; at least when she used her fists, it wasn’t in the middle of a crowded marketplace full of potential customers. Thorin could be forgiven his temper. A young dwarf prince, striped of his home and wealth, forced to bite his tongue as the undiscerning eyes of men twice his height and a quarter his age sniffed and picked over his work, daring to find fault in it. There was only so much indignity a body could take before it snapped and last year, with his mother in her final days, his nerves were frayed to the breaking point. Better by far for Dís to go, for she would simply parry snide remarks with her own sharp wit, making a sale before their customer realized he’d been insulted.  
  
And she was right, he reflected as he doused the fire and cleaned up the shop for the day; it was dead boring when his fellows had gone to market. Playing the role of king to a scattered, beaten-down people was a lonely, thankless occupation, but in spite of all the hardships of his rank, he had kin and friends enough to lift his spirits and cajole him out of a bad humor. At least, he did when they weren't gone to market. Leaving Thorin Oakenshield alone with his thoughts was unwise, but it sometimes could not be helped.

As he tidied up, Thorin became conscious of a low crooning round the side entrance to the forge and he stifled a sigh. Better to brood, abandoned by his friends and family, than be subject to _that_ racket. He knew the voice without looking and barked, “Take your caterwauling someplace else, she’s not here!” The music stopped abruptly, but Thorin’s sharp order was not followed.  
  
“Not here?” The young dwarf looked crestfallen as he peeked into the darkened forge to see for himself, but Thorin’s limited supply of sympathy was never wasted on the young fools who made show of courting his sister. This one was particularly stubborn in that regard, so Thorin liked him less for it. “Where’s she gone?”  
  
“South,” Thorin replied shortly. And maybe it was a good thing Dis had gone away for she might forget all about the attentions of this golden-haired idiot. Víli was one of the few descendents of Longbeards that mined the Ered Lindon since the First Age. He was handsome enough, with a broad, ruddy face, fine big nose and a thick yellow beard that was still settled with dust from the mine. Thorin frowned to see it. Either he was so eager to go courting that he neglected his appearance or he cared so little for his sister that he couldn’t be bothered to have a wash before paying a call.  
  
Not that Dís discouraged his advances, he admitted ruefully to himself. What his sister saw in the miner, Thorin could not say. If she had to marry at all he would prefer she set her sights on someone...well, more like himself. Steadier, less prone to larking about. Not humorless, of course, but less foolish. Someone who’d seen more of the world. Dwalin, for instance, would be a fine choice and sometimes Thorin thought he caught a spark of something between them, but alas, they continued to treat one another as brother and sister might and thus far gave him little cause to hope for more.  
  
Until she came to her senses, though, it was this lad whose lap she perched on at the alehouse and his hands she took up for dancing most of late. Perhaps some time on the road together would clear her head.  
  
“Oh,” Víli said, still casting his eyes around the forge as if he expected Dís to spring up from behind an anvil and surprise him. “Well. That’s a shame. All your folk gone down with her, then?”  
  
“Aye,” Thorin replied. “Dwalin and Balin as well.” And Glóin accompanied his older brother Óin and the other healers to trade for herbs to make poultices and medicines to get them through ‘til spring. All that was left of those he counted of ‘his folk’ were gone away and the house was quiet in the evenings, the air chill and dead seeming, as though he was surrounded by ghosts.  
  
Víli nodded his sympathy. “All me mates have gone as well, Bofur and Bombur’ll be selling their toys. Even took Bifur along so he wouldn’t be left to himself. Can’t say he’s much for conversation anymore, but still, hardly seems right for them to abandon us, eh?”  
  
Thorin made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. Anyone with a jot of sense about them would realize the conversation was over, but not this persistent miner. “It’s really too bad, I had a mind to ask her if she wanted to go down the pub. Gets awful lonesome working all day with no one to talk to make the hours go by. ‘Course, I’m hardly on me own down there, but there’s no substitution for the company of friends.”  
  
Evidently Víli expected a reply, so Thorin hung his apron up on a peg and muttered, “Suppose not.”  
  
“Do you want to go for a pint?” Víli asked suddenly. “My treat and all. The lads and I usually go in for a drink and a smoke after work. You and Dwalin too sometimes, yeah? I know I’ve seen you go down with your sister.”

All the dwarrows of Ered Luin frequented the pub Vili mentioned. It was owned by one of their kind who specialized in the brewing of meads so sweet and thick it was like sucking honey out of the comb. Dís loved it and Thorin could relax, comforted by the knowledge that - the pub being specifically built with dwarrows in mind, they would not likely to be harassed by Men or Elves passing through town. The other races who did stop in were always respectful as could be, most were locals who’d lived beside Dwarves all their lives and knew their folk were hardly as devious as the legends made them out to be.  
  
It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse the offer, but his last few days of feeling totally alone in the world sat ill with him and Thorin considered it. One drink wouldn’t be too taxing - not that he’d let the miner pay for it. Thorin was not in the habit of going into anyone’s debt, even a few pennies for a dram of ale. “I can pay my own way,” he said, splashing some water on his arms and face to clean the worst of the soot.  
  
Víli’s face lit up like a bonfire on Durin’s Day Eve. “You’ll come? That’s a relief, I was worried I’d spend the evening drinking alone and that puts me all out of sorts.”  
  
The miner must have been lonelier than Thorin to seek out the smith’s company so eagerly. They were hardly friends, mere acquaintances and he’d never spent any time at all with him without Dís or his companions from the mines to act as a buffer. There was nothing offensive at all about the lad, he had a free, easy way about him and was quick with a laugh and a song. Were it not for the golden hair braided down his back and round, cheerful features, he would remind Thorin so strongly of another with a hearty laugh and open smiling face that it would hurt to look at him.  
  
As it was, Thorin could push those associations away long enough to follow his sister’s suitor into the cozy pub. He was certainly popular, he seemed to stop to greet everyone they met from the door to the table they took by the window. He began to reassess his previous assumption about the other dwarf’s loneliness.  
  
“All your fellows have gone abroad, have they?” Thorin asked, with a trace of wry humor in his voice.  
  
“All me best mates, aye,” the younger dwarf nodded. “Oh, there’s folks as I’m friendly with, no doubt, but they’re no substitute for a real chum to pass the evenings with.”  
  
The dark-haired dwarf could not imagine what he might have done to fall into the category of ‘chum.’ He hardly imagined he knew Víli any better than those he greeted now. “Where is your family, may I ask?”  
  
“You may and the sorry fact is, I haven’t any kinfolk left,” Víli said matter-of-fact. “M’Da and uncle died at Azanulbizar, along with me cousins. I was ‘prenticed then, to a goldsmith, but truth be told, I didn’t show much talent for it. Went into the mines after we got word back how the battle turned out, less time spent learning and more time spent bringing in a bit of money. Ma passed on a few years later, bad winter that was. She caught a cold, settled in her lungs, terrible way to go. ‘Course she was never the same after we lost Da, but she carried on. Kept her spirits up, even to the end. She was sore upset leaving me behind, but I told her I’d be alright and Da was waiting for her and all...always was disappointed in meself that I’d not gone off to war, but I wasn’t old enough.”  
  
Recollecting himself and his audience, he gave Thorin a mildly apologetic look and hastily added, “Not that you’re _old_ , not at all. Why, you must’ve been little more than a dwarfling yourself, like as not.”  
  
“Not so young as that,” Thorin admitted. “But young enough.”

Old enough to fight, skilled enough and lucky enough to stay alive. Many older than him were not so lucky and left behind many a grieving widow and children. When he heard of Fundin’s death, he was shocked to the core. The old dwarf always seemed to solid, like a mountain itself. His hair went white while he was still young, but his muscles were hard as iron though he’d seen the rise and fall of two centuries by the dawn of the final battle of Orcs and Dwarves. Death played no favorites that day, great families suffered the pains of lesser folk, the oldest and wisest fell alongside the young and green whose beards were too short to braid.  
  
“That was the last of your family, then?” Thorin asked, desirous of turning the subject from himself. “Your mother and yourself.”  
  
“Aye,” Víli nodded. “Well, family can be a broad term, I’m chummy with the lads from the mine and I rent a room from Irpa, you must know her and her sons Dori and Nori, they’re your folk. Sold the house after Ma died, was too much trouble for just me. Anyway, I keeps meself busy and have a bit of craic now and again. Not so bad, nor so lonesome neither - leastaways, not when them I count as friends aren’t off to market. You don’t go in for bartering?”  
  
“Not this year,” Thorin replied, then lapsed into silence. He was a poor conversationalist on the best of days, with folks he knew well. A voice in his that sounded suspiciously like his sister urged him to at least try to speak more than three words together. “There was...a bit of a brawl last year, so I thought I might remain behind.”  
  
Víli chortled in surprise. “A brawl?”  
  
“A small one,” Thorin amended. “Twixt myself and one of the Men milling about the place, spewing lies.”  
  
“There’s one in every crowd,” his drinking companion shook his head ruefully. “Always trying to start trouble. Did you lay him out flat?”  
  
Thorin nodded. “That I did. I probably ought to have kept my head, but - “  
  
“What’s done is done,” Víli finished for him. “Anyhow, you probably taught him a lesson well worth learning: If dwarrow-work isn’t to your taste, best keep your gob shut about it.” He took a swig of mead then smiled. “I’m surprised you let that sister of yours go in your stead, she’s got a mean right hook.”  
  
“She’s wiser about employing it than I am, at times,” Thorin admitted. His younger siblings shared an easier demeanor than he himself enjoyed. While years of toil embittered his spirit, it made theirs better able to weather insult, hardship and disappointment. The last time he saw Frerin get his dander up was just before they marched to Moria when their father told him he was not permitted to go because of his youth. How his eyes had blazed! His voice went low and he did not seem like Frerin at all. In that instant he was the spitting image of his elder brother and Thorin had been so proud of him. More fool he.  
  
“Aye, she’s a jewel,” Víli sighed and his eyes went soft at the thought of Thorin's sister. The sister who also would not stay behind and whose crumpled countenance he had to see when he walked alone into the healers’ tents. Their mother alone remained away from the fray and the ravens delivered the news of the dead well before he saw her again. Thorin was grateful for that, in a cowardly way, he had to admit. He could not stomach the thought of being the one to tell her he failed to save her king and her son.  
  
The younger dwarf did not notice Thorin’s unhappy silence or, if he did, he chose not to comment on it. In casting his eyes about for something to comment on that would spark a new thread of conversation he noted a familiar brown head darting about the crowd near the bar. Víli was just about to raise a hand and wave him over when he saw young Nori swirl his head around like a spooked owl before jumping on the bar and diving behind it. Thorin likewise noticed the lad’s strange actions and nodded toward the place where he disappeared. “Isn’t that one of your landlady’s sons?”

“Aye, it is,” Víli replied, puzzled. Usually Nori actually _drank_ some stout before he fell behind the bar. What on earth - ah. That explained it, then.  
  
Another dwarf stepped into the pub, his light brown beard neatly braided which belied the harried expression on his face. “Isn’t that her other son?” Thorin muttered.  
  
“It is, indeed,” Víli nodded, smiling and waving and adding out of the side of his mouth, “Just follow m’lead.”  
  
Dori saw Víli and made a beeline for him, hardly noticing Thorin at all, which was surprising considering the fact that Dori was typically one of the most obsequious dwarves in the Ered Luin. “Have you seen my idiot brother?” he demanded without even perfunctory courtesies.  
  
“Can’t say as I have, sorry,” his tenant replied apologetically. Thorin sensed that this was as situation where keeping his mouth shut would be wise. Dori hemmed and hawwed and noticing Thorin, gave a quick bob of his head, but a scowl had overtaken his ordinarily placid features and the deference did not seem sincere.  
  
“I’ve got half a mind to break his indenture if he doesn’t stop buggering off in the middle of the day.”  
  
Glancing out a window, Víli noted that it was getting awfully dark outside to classify the time as ‘midday.’ Dori’s scowl deepened and he complained, “I’ve been searching for him for _hours_. I swear, if he’s left to follow the caravans south, I’ll bring him back in pieces.”  
  
“Mmm, there’s a thought. Would your Ma approve?”  
  
Dori huffed, “Well, if she wants be the one to chase him all over Mahal’s bountiful earth, she’s free to do so. I’ll say nothing against my mother, but if he wasn’t my brother and she hadn’t insisted he go into the family trade, I’d break his indenture and send him into the mines - er. No offense, of course.”  
  
“None taken,” Vili replied pleasantly. Privately, he thought Nori would make a poor miner. It was hard work and if there was one thing the youngest of Irpa’s sons eschewed, it was hard work. “Well, good luck in your search.”  
  
“Ha! The little whelp got all the luck in the family,” Dori lamented, heading for the door, which he slammed shut behind him.  
  
Víli took a long draught of mead and shrugged at Thorin’s questioning glance. “It’s best not to get involved. Difficult situation that, after about a week I realized it was too complicated for me. I’d need a chart to keep track of it all and I never learned me letters. Hallo, young Master Nori! Rest a spell, he’s gone away.”

Nori’s head popped up from behind the bar, though he lingered a moment, keeping one suspicious eye on the door as he vaulted over the counter again, coming to sit by Víli. “I owe you a life-debt,” he informed him, smoothing a hand over his hair.  
  
“Refill me mug and that of me mate here and we’ll consider it paid,” Víli slid his tankard toward Nori and reached for Thorin’s, but the older dwarf shook his head. “None for you? Well, make it double for me, then.” Nori was back in a trice with three fresh tankards of mead, the third clearly reserved for himself.  
  
Víli nudged one of the mugs ever-so-slightly closer to Thorin who began to eye it prospectively. “Suddenly not so parched,” he shrugged. “Go on, say you’re doing me a favor. I did make our poor Nori walk past a window to fetch it and all, who knows if his brother is lurking outside. He went forth at great personal risk.”  
  
When he phrased it that way, Thorin was able to lay aside his better judgement and take the proffered drink. One more to warm him before he returned home to spend the evening in solitude.  
  
The youngest dwarf could not help but glance over his shoulder before he drank down half his mead in one great gulp. “If I have to look at one more stitch, I’ll tear my eyes out by the roots. If I hear the words ‘weft float’ again, I’ll rip my ears off and stuff them in the bloody sockets, just to be sure I’m deaf as a doornail.”  
  
“Apprenticeship not going well?” Víli asked, giving Nori’s arm a pat.  
  
“You’re a master at understatement, anyone ever tell you that?” the younger dwarf grumbled, tucking his arm closer to his chest.  
  
Víli’s cheerful spirit was undaunted. “Buck up, lad! If worst comes to worst, you can come to the mines with me every day.”  
  
“I’d rather die,” Nori replied darkly. Like his brother, he belatedly noted that he was in the presence of royalty and, also like his brother, he did not give a toss at the moment. “Good evening,” he grunted at Thorin at last, eyeing him speculatively. “Don’t suppose you were an apprentice once?”  
  
The older dwarf leveled the younger with an unimpressed expression. “I was indeed. And I minded my masters.”  
  
“Was one of your masters your elder brother?” Nori asked, equally unimpressed with what sounded to him like the beginning of yet another lecture. Thorin had to admit that was not the case. “Then there’s no comparison. My brother is the fussiest, most long-winded killjoy who ever grew a beard.”  
  
“Why not break your indenture and stop torturing the both of you?” Víli suggested sensibly. “So, weaving's not your cuppa grog. There are other occupations. Why not open a shop if you’re so opposed to getting your hands dirty?”  
  
“I’d break my mother’s heart and she’d break my bones,” Nori lamented. “Can’t be helped.” Noticing the gittern at Víli’s side, he requested, “Couldn’t you play us a song? It’ll calm my nerves.”  
  
“Your nerves! And what about your brother’s? I figure he’s got halfway to Kheledûl by now searching for you.”  
  
“I thought you said you it was best not to get involved,” Thorin reminded Víli with a small, amused smile.  
  
Víli shrugged his shoulders. “One thing you ought to know about me: I give excellent advice, but damn me if I can remember to follow it.” Louder, to Nori, he replied, “I know just the song for you laddie and mind you heed it well.” Picking up his instrument, he plucked at the strings to get it in tune and took to serenading the troublesome dwarfling rather than the comely dwarrow-lass who was the intended target of his musicality that day.  
  
“I been a wild rover for many a year  
And I spent all me money on whiskey and beer!  
But now I’m returning with gold in great store  
And I never will play the wild rover no more!  
  
And it’s no, nay, never!  
No, nay, never no more  
Will I play the wild rover!  
No, never! No more!”

The golden-haired miner had a natural showmanship about him. If he wasn’t so content in the mines, he could probably make a decent living as a troubadour. His voice was clear and pleasant, rising above the noise of the pub. Most of the patrons stopped their conversations to listen, clapping their hands and joining in on the chorus. Víli’s face never lost its perpetual smile and his dark brown eyes glittered brightly in the candlelight. It was the sort of guileless, open expression that bid those who saw it to unburden themselves of their troubles and smile back.  
  
Thorin knew precious few souls who had that sort of power of personality and one of those was lost years ago. With a pang, he suddenly realized exactly what it was about this humble miner, earnest almost to the point of foolishness, who could not read, but could pluck gems from unyielding stone and coax sweet melodies from gut strings, that turned his sister’s head. In spirit, he was very like their dear, lost Frerin.  
  
The king in exile stayed at the pub for another three rounds; when Víli discovered he could play the harp, he declared that Thorin must have cheated him of a treat and the oversight would need to be corrected as soon as possible. Eventually, the crowd began to clear and the music died away and even little Nori admitted he might as well go home and face the music. Víli offered to accompany him and conjure up some wild story about his whereabouts, but Nori waved off the suggestion and said he could probably face his family’s wrath alone if he was drunk enough and he needed to move quickly before the alcohol burned off.  
  
In an effort to avoid the inevitable storm that awaited him at his lodgings, Víli asked Thorin if he might accompany him to his house to kill some time. The two set off together, speculating about what exactly Dori was going to do to his brother when he arrived home, reeking of drink and stumbling through apologies he only half-meant. Their imaginations got the better of them the longer they walked and by the time they approached the house Thorin shared with his sister, the older dwarf decided the only appropriate punishment would be to pluck every hair from Nori’s beard and force him to weave it into a shawl for his mother.  
  
The two of them spent a moment laughing at the imagine before they collected themselves and prepared to part. “Lovely evening!” Víli clapped Thorin on the back as they approached his door. “Lovely evening! Must do it again once everyone’s back from the road, I’m sure they’ll have many a tale to tell to make the nights go faster. Well, I'll be off -”  
  
“I’ve a question for you, if you’ve a minute to spare.”  
  
Víli grinned and spread his hands welcomingly. “I’ve several, if your idea about poor Nori’s beard holds true.”  
  
“Why did you ask me to come along with you tonight?” Thorin developed a few theories, ranging from sheer boredom to the notion that he might be trying to ingratiate himself with him in order to look like a better prospect for his Dís. Prior to this evening, Thorin would have immediately assumed the latter, no questions asked, but now he was not so sure Víli had that much shrewdness in him.  
  
The young dwarf seemed to find nothing untoward in the question and immediately replied, “That’d be your sister’s doing. Not that she knew she was doing it, but she often talks about how fond she is of you, what a good sort you are. You’re always so...quiet. When I’m about anyway, you seem awfully stern. She thinks the world of you, you know. I just wanted to see what all her love and pride was about.”  
  
It might have been the five beverages he consumed or maybe he missed his sister more than he cared to admit, but Thorin found himself touched by the other dwarf’s words. “And what are your findings?”  
  
With another pat on the arm Víli grinned broadly up at him and said, “Seems to me her esteem’s well founded. Goodnight, sir. Sleep well.”


End file.
